A river runs through this swath of ranch land, snaking in serpentine contours through
willows and winters, destined for the nearby fertile plain to the south. Just before she
empties into the basin, she joins another moving band of water, on her own journey
from headwaters in the same mountain range.

Their power and beauty is greater at the confluence.

I walk that river now, alone, almost there, lost in song.

Well, almost alone.

Are you haunted by your dreams/do you walk with ghosts/do they call out and you don’t
know what it means/or do you make a stand/turn around and shake their hand/on 191st
street

I walk with ghosts, too, along this riverbank. Divorces, struggles with sobriety, crises of
faith and confidence... we all walk with them, though we may call them by different
names. And when we find the courage to shake those ghosts’ hands, brushing their
fingers in mutual acknowledgment and respect, sometimes we can let them go.
For good.

And then, finally free, we can turn to the future, and run into the joyful arms of breezy
melodies, joy, and hope.

Decline defeat politely/then we reassess/lift our heads up/on we press/don’t you know
there ain’t no magic potion/life it ebbs and flows just like the ocean/ride the waves but
don’t get carried away/turn those lemons into lemonade/ahhh-we’re back again
Cary Pierce’s ‘Back Again’ is that joyous morning-after to Jack O’Neill’s ‘Cadillac Kings’
evening spent dancing with ghosts, the juxtaposition of dark and light reflected in their
own deep pool journeys.

Jack and Cary started playing together at SMU in Dallas, TX, when music was shared
via mix tape, not mp3. They’d spend the next 10 years recording albums and touring the
world, sharing stages with the biggest names of the era.

Those names don’t matter here.

There’s does.

Jackopierce.